


Dreams of Valhalla

by poptod



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Late at Night, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Poetry, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poptod/pseuds/poptod
Summary: AU, Shelton and Sledge meet in a downtown bar and head back to Sledge’s place for drinks. Things progress from there.
Relationships: Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Dreams of Valhalla

**Author's Note:**

> This is more poetry than actual story but it was fun to write anyway

Red lights blink in the distance. Down, down, the rain falls, landing like blessings on streets. Cast across like clouds stretched too thin, streetlights reflect in the black pools gathering in the dips of the cement. Underneath his feet the tiny pebbles crunch. They are here. They are always here, dancing eternally in the night that remains forever young, a dream of a life that lives off indulgence. In the moonlight he opens the door, clutching himself so tight that nails dig hard into his skin. As the music fills his head, swarming around him as wine swirls in the system, fingernails relax leaving only the memory of deep creases.

He sits alone, drinking a golden fire that burns his throat and warms his stomach. Swirling his glass, glancing in every corner, he watches those sparks in the eyes of dancers, dissipating into the haze of peach smoke. Fogged away, more vague than shadow and more shadow than person. He sits alone.

From laughter and fumbling men dark skin emerges, shrouded in purple silk, coated in marks and scars. Sunlight, that's his scar. Red and black. He isn't noticed - ever one to thrive in the back, soft like wings of birds that only ever fall south.

Fingertips drag across the wood, cold as circles of precipitation run up the edges. Moonlight pouring through sugar pane, lacing in shadow and glint. He looks up, up thin waist and sharp collarbones, up cutting jaw till eyes tangle in cold. Cold, cold to see, cold to the touch. Blue, green, and grey. Grey and violet - tap, tap, fingernails tap against wood and his breath leaves him.

_You look lonely_ , words brush past rose lips, mumbled and unsure, broken and poised. He stares, he doesn't know how else to live, saying nothing as he sits. He sits across from, hands on the table and reaching for his world as leaves reach for sunlight - an endless dance of too much and not enough.

_You're no different_ , he replies, purposelessly rough, uncharacteristically warm. He intakes sharp breath, edges of tender lips winking upwards so slightly he wonders how he sees it.

_The both of us together... guess we ain't lonely no more,_ past a smile the words sing, obvious and muddled in holy space that sees no saint. No martyr knows their name, no angel blesses their presence. No. No, this is no place for saints. A gathering of unworthy, a company of those who dream only of being who they are not.

_You're..._ glaze over his collarbones, the shadow of his clavicle deep, stubble against skin and sharp beneath kisses he cannot pray to know. _You'd make a good model. For art, I mean._

_Comin' on to me, are ya?_

_Wouldn't dream of it._

_Oh_ , he can't bear to meet such sharp an eye, can't know the way his chest fills and deflates, not when his words spit like fire and fog all at once. _I bet you would... wouldn't you?_

He doesn't work, but silence says more than words ever can.

_You'd_ love _to dream of it_. Pausing, mouth open and pink tongue tracing along lipped ridges. Dream of me, whisper in flushed cheeks, rapid eyes glance. Glance along skin, trace an outline souls dare not fill. Snafu - called by name, know nothing but insanity, thrive only in chaos.

He speaks his own name, mouthing the word like he's never spoken before. Every movement precise. Listen intently, he detests what he owns, detests all he is, listens too close. Too intent. So eyes still shine - scattered stars amongst unholy life, brighter spirit from blackened waste. Blackened death.

_Nice name_ , says cold composure, written abhorrence clear as nothing ever is. Jumping chemicals and twisting romance to be decay as life. Mean not what you say, say not a lie; sorrowful, be soft, be tender.

_And what's yours?_

_I already said._

_No_ , he murmurs, _you didn't._ Snafu is a broken name, broken as stained glass, beautiful and radiant and horribly cutting. Bleed down the colors, wash away your light, Snafu is not a name. It is a title above all else, a category, a label. Not who he is, but full spirit lifts away cloaks in locked away rooms.

Hesitant, hesitant to speak, careful to reveal - Merriel, be Snafu or Merriel - swarm his head and be brave, thought-full forest.

_You don't seem the type to come here,_ says Snafu and Merriel. Intoxicate his system, lock away inhibitions, enter whiskey-fire words. Scotch, Eugene corrects, and it burns down his throat, swelling warm.

_I only visit every now and then_ , says Eugene, still alight with liquid fire, glowing in red light, dim in tarry cigarettes. Peach smoke, low and high, she lives forever in red light.

Lean forward, closer and closer, bear the heat and beg for the nearer. _I'm lucky then_ , says Snafu, warped in his tone and drowned in quiet anticipation. Be free, but be quiet, and do not speak of your leisure. The thought-full forest awaits his return.

_I wouldn't consider you lucky_ , says Eugene in words that slip too easy.

_I am..._

_to see such a pretty sight,_ he murmurs, ghosts crawling over his skin like satin flowers, brushing against long eyelash and parted lips. No, not like this - blood cannot rush past his skin and taint his demeanor - not like this.

_Now you're the one comin' onto me,_ says Eugene with a too-clear laugh, clearing his throat when humor twinkles effortlessly in Merriel's eyes. Broken memories aren't strange, to float in endless intemperance, but _he_ is strange. Too common, and not familiar, unduly queer if not bizarre. Crystal glass still shines, glints in red light, raining like acid and persimmon sugar. Humor twinkles in Merriel - instability holes itself in Snafu. And Eugene, who remains as he always was.

_And if I am?_

No reply, no reply, no thought. It's so dark, red highlights along cheek and jaw, brow and lip - soft, ever enduring, halting his breath. No reply comes, not when he waits, not in patience.

_Oh_ , Snafu leans impossibly closer, _you're a virgin, aren't you?_

_No_ , replies Eugene too fast, caught in horrid surprise. Twitching, twitched eyelid, fingers still tap, tap, against hard wood, short nails sharp against water ringlets.

_Forgive me fa' doubtin' you, but,_ drag hard gaze up chest, imprinting sacred echoes on pale skin, _ya look... innocent. One a' the reasons I came up t' you._

_Sorry to disappoint,_ says Eugene with a curt smile, tight fingers an aftermath of a war he fought too long ago.

_Don't worry 'bout it,_ Merriel murmurs, touching for the first time his hand, reaching tendrils of rot through forest green, poisoning innocence with flowered offense. _You're far more interestin' than my company._

Lean forward - grow closer, be nearer. _Who's your company_ , asks he in quiet words.

_Over there, see,_ says he, pressing cheek against cheek, guide vision to vision. Dance in crimson haze, swarmed with insobriety, strangers dance with one another in a sight yet rarely seen. _They're all drunk as hell._

_And you aren't?_

He parts from him, but we remain close. Twirl and twinkle. Nose nearly touches his, a pure reflection of self in the glassiness of his close eye.

_No_ , says Merriel, soft, but the smell of whiskey is on his word. _Not yet._

_Planning on it?_

_Only if I don't got a shot with you._

Eugene leans back. Moonlight is dark, but glints in the glass. Red still shines in his drink.

_So?_ Merriel asks, unmoving, mouth parted.

_So what?_ He almost challenges, edge of lips quirking up, slight and intrinsic.

_Should I get drunk... or do I have a shot?_

_At what?_ Teasing - lilt, tease, quirk your eyes - it's all the same in him. Merriel adores that, Snafu finds a competition that exists nowhere else. The most exciting game. And he finishes; breaking out into a smile. How loving the smile that crosses him, how uncharacteristically loving, but Eugene does not need to know.

_You're playing with me_ , he smiles true, _aren't you?_

_Come back to my place, for the evening_ , suggests Eugene, rarely one to know a stranger. _We'll see where the drinks lead us._

_Got good liquor at your place, hm?_ says Merriel, who drinks carefully, warped lips against crystal. Too slow, gold liquid slides down his tongue, savoring no flavor - only time. Only time.

_Better than here._

_Really? Why come here then?_

_Better company_ , Eugene shuts his eyes, perhaps the first time tonight. Too entranced to look away, can skin bear the sun so long?

_I am not one to turn down good drink,_ Snafu stands, Eugene trails eye up thin waist again, over slender fingers, against dipped collar bones, _nor good company._

Be quiet, be still, but ask of me no silence - ask your intrigue what it trusts. Is this beautiful? Is that possible? Maybe, maybe the stars still shine, and they do. Scattered and meaningless, but they stand the same - that's alright, Eugene knows. Be peace within yourself; commit no adultery. Is it that? What's the name, with no label, no Snafu, no Merriel, no Eugene.

Tread onwards, feet steady. Stare in modesty, tell your trust, ask for her forgiveness. Good kiss, gentle kiss, lay upon her brow foretold woe. Be quiet, be still, and ask of me no silence.

Sing in the streets - rain beats mellow, hold another close, is there love in you? Blazes die every day but let him live, let him survive to know another. What eyes, streetlight reflections in meadow and stone. What beautiful eyes. Ancient eyes built on holy ground, a young face no one knows. _Lead me home_ , says Merriel, but does not speak the words. Merriel, do not stray from me. Know the hymn, pray for salvation - be quiet, be still beating hearts, in tune with all the world.

_Here, then?_ he asks at the black door, and Eugene reaches for the gold handle.

Photographs, worn and new line every hallway, great collections of flowers in vases and frames all the same. Too quiet, yet not tense - offer him your drink, honey and gold rolls down his cheek. Almost grateful, sit across from one another. No, don't let anxieties run course, don't free your sin, sit peaceful. Tumultuous thought, but sit peaceful.

_You're right_ , says Merriel, his first sip burning cool in his mouth, _y' do have better liquor._

_Of course I do. I don't lie. Remember that about me_ , says Eugene, if Merriel will remember him at all.

_Won't be the only thing I remember 'bout you_ , says he, biting at his lip till it pops, falling to pout in plum red. Kiss him, or dream of it - all the same they remain as they are, caught in limbo. Reach for him, not too fast, but hasten your speed; the night fades and love does not last, not beside perjury.

When daydream ends and reality splits, he can't see - nor can Snafu, through wide eyes none know the truth. Drink, touch, but only grace; not heavenly, not hellish, just human. Human. Yes, touch of theirs is human, trailing up freckled skin and scarred shadow. Mark him as yours. He belongs to no one, no soul - the night claims her prize, stumbling with alcohol-heavy footsteps up stairs and through hallways.

Ensnare passion in one moment, where the mist shatters and both sun and moon shine too bright in their eyes. He digs his nails, deep, deep, deep into dark skin, imprinting touch and memory into Snafu's waist. Shirk duty, and shirk responsibility - gentle and hurried clothes drop from shoulders, hips, piling on the floor as they move onwards. Tangled in affections too potent he falls, landing on plush blanket, surrounded by Eugene's golden light, caught in the ardor he glows.

_Fuck_ , murmurs Snafu, stuck in mid-air as lips press against his bare chest, electrifying and lulling all at once. Tug at his hair, harsh, pull him upwards - he does that. Fingers interlock with auburn hair, forcing him away from concentration on task and towards love of a subject. Eugene asks, _is this alright_ , not knowing it's too right. Merriel is far from broken and far from whole. Kindness is not foreign, no, not a foreign idea, though kindness for him is.

_I might havet' keep ya,_ Merriel whispers, stroking down his cheek, fingers designed to hold only him. Born to know only his touch. He's crafted from brimstone, to touch the heavens unknown and unexpected; it makes him all the more overwhelmed.

_How many times_ , asks Eugene, leaning back down, tugging with teeth at soft and scarred skin all the same, _are you planning on trying to seduce me?_

_As many times as it takes,_ he answers, pulling closer, closer still - to tell where one ends and the other begins, be at peace, but do not be still - pull him closer. No light, none at all, but dull streetlight, distant songs ringing through empty streets, breezing past an open window. Too much and not enough, pull him closer. Closer still.

Grind, push and pull, grow closer, let yourself be warped - let inactivity and apathy shove you away - let yourself be entwined. He does, he does, but remains quiet. Don't let them hear, close the doors, close the windows - don't let them hear. _Be mine_ , whisper unknown fondness. Yearn, or beg, ask for his touch, let him grow nearer. Let him lead, don't push, pull, grow nearer.

_Fuck, fuck, I need you_ , mumbles Eugene, desperate as claw marks drag their path down his back, over muscle and spine, reaching to hips and pulling him closer.

_Got a funny way a' showin' it_ , Merriel says, grinning too-satisfied when Eugene glares. He isn't a tease - not by his definition. Perhaps he doesn't move enough. Or too much. Cold eyes remain on his at all times, and the intensity of cold heat melts both composure and sense. Be still, beating heart, tango, do not lose yourself. She watches in red-tainted water, let her know - let her exist. It's alright, will it always be alright?

Two definitions, one label, three names, but do not lie to him. Souls cannot know the peace of another without sacrifice, so sacrifice his peace Eugene does - Merriel sacrifices a title, no doubt in his choice, immediate and irreversible. Permanent, for one night. For forever, for one evening. Do you understand? Can you hear the thoughts that make us ill? Can you remember your story?

No peace, no sanity, just surrender - he surrenders control, twirling through adoration till Merriel rests above him, stroking down his cheekbone, down his jawline and to his shoulder. Too familiar, not safe enough - stay sane, stay sane, stay sane - no, be still. Be known. And he lets himself be known by one who knows no others but himself. Venerate one another and say _not a word, not another word_ , let him kneel before you. Let him worship the unholy, praise the unworthy; _it's alright Merriel._

He says, sings, his name like a broken hymn, over and over, _do not stray from me._ Tears swell in the corner of cold eyes, overstimulated and overbearing, fingers tight around wrist and hip. Hold him close, nearer still, be tender. Lose peace and gain it all in a single moment - cry and rejoice in one second - forget all and know all in only an instant. 

Rest upon his bed, wander his thought-full forest. Light tarry cigarette, blow peach smoke, love in red haze. Rain still reflects light like persimmon sugar, do not be afraid, never love alone, be human and never lose that vehemence.


End file.
